lucky strikes and wasted time

running off to feed my meter
outside the restaurant
i bumped into
a mutual friend of ours

finding the frigid city night
unfit for involved conversation
beyond hurried leather-gloved waves
icicles dangling
from steamy hellos
how-are-yous
and goodbyes

when a thought stopped my boots dead
on the sidewalk

a head turning notion

i should have asked him
if you were still alive

kentucky frost settled into my hair
when i realized
i had ceased to care

your heavy handed judgment
how no one is spared
the lucky strike meter stick
of your drunken mother’s eyes

it was that moment i cried

not for you
or us

but for the wasted time